


razor wind

by Katraa



Series: These Lazy Days [1]
Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor 2
Genre: Alternate Universe, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Consent, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Hibiki has a lot of Eevees, Hibiki is a Breeder, Hotsuweek 2018, It's a wild ride, M/M, Pokeverse, Sloppy Makeouts, They have a Daycare, Yamato is a Trainer, Yamato is not amused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 05:54:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14867919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katraa/pseuds/Katraa
Summary: Again, the color of Hibiki’s skin splotches in all variations of red and pink.  It’s taken ten years for Yamato Hotsuin to know just what to say to so easily get under his skin, to make every single part of him ache, either happily or fearfully or pleasurably.  It’s taken ten years for Yamato to know him better than himself and even through all the frustrated tears and chaos Hibiki wouldn’t change it for the world.POKEVERSE AU:Hibiki is a Breeder, Yamato is a Trainer, and they live a wild life together full of Eevees.





	razor wind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [habenaria_radiata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/habenaria_radiata/gifts).



> one of many of my anticipated poke-series aus.  
> this is probably one of the later ones.  
> i'll probably write a lot more prequels to this one in the coming weeks.  
> but i just had to put this one down.  
> because we all love asphyxiation kink.

“Hibiki.”

Hibiki’s absolute favorite part of the day was when the sun peaked behind the willows in the backyard and cast silly shadows on the yard. The little, white-picket fence surrounding the playpen bracketed the grassy patch perfectly. It was his little slice of heaven. He would lay out in the grass on his stomach with a book or two. He would sit and watch the Pokémon he was tending to that afternoon. Sometimes he’d join in on their play but most of the time he’d be an innocent bystander, thumbing through his book, tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth, deep in thought. He’d travel to worlds unknown, places unseen. He’d be a King, a Knight, a Sorcerer. The great thing about books was that they were a cheap ticket to a new world. They had little to no consequences. They existed in the four corners of their physical bindings but grew to be so much more in the mind of many. Hibiki loved books.

But he loved Eevees far more.

“Hibiki.”

Upon hearing his name a second time, said this time with a touch of exhaustion, Hibiki drops his index finger to in the binding of his book and nudges it closed. Rolling onto his back confirms his suspicions. There is one Yamato Hotsuin, tall, dark and handsome. 

“You’re back early,” Hibiki says, bright blue eyes squinting to block out the harsh rays. “Is everything all right?”

“I am not,” corrects the man, arms folding to his chest. “It is near dinnertime. You lost track of time again.”

A breezy laugh slips through the cracks of Hibiki’s teeth. Amused, he nods. “Ah. You’re probably right. Sorry about that!” His eyes flick to the side to observe the small pile of Eevees slumbering away in the late afternoon sun. 

“Has anyone come by today?” asks the man.

“Mm not since the morning. Someone dropped off an Oddish.”

“And where is it?”

“Where Oddishes usually are,” Hibiki says as he sits up, arms folding to the crest of his knees pulled taut to his chest. “Napping in the shade. You know their leaves are super sensitive, Yamato.”

“They are not,” sighs Yamato as he drags a gloved hand back through inhumanely colored lavender hair. “And the Growlithe?”

“Timeout inside. I think he’s napping.” Hibiki stifles a yawn, cheek pressing to the back of his hand. “I would be, too, but I didn’t realize it was already so late. I guess I got caught up in my book again.”

“For the third time this week, it seems.” Yamato gently nudges the toe of his boot against Hibiki’s loafers, a fond smile spreading across his sharp features. “Where is your Eevee?”

“Prooobably the same place as your Abysol.” 

Yamato doesn’t miss the way Hibiki’s brows waggle suggestively. Nor does Yamato miss the opportunity to not-so-gently knock his boot into Hibiki’s shin this time around. 

“Hibiki,” admonishes Yamato, brows furrowing together. “We do not need anymore Eggs.”

“But we do!” Hibiki waves his hands frantically. He scuttles backwards, away from the heavy near-steel toed boot. He’s much like a crab in that sense. “It’s been almost six months since we last had a bundle of bouncing Eevee. Don’t you remember how _soft_ they are when they’re newborns? Oh my god, I want ten more.”

“Hibiki, where do you think we’re going to have the room for that many more?” Yamato finally sits down on the grass beside him, nudging off his coat off his shoulders. It’s all clean lines, sharp contrasts of black and yellow, and it’s extremely befitting of a young man of his stature and elegance.

“Your bed, for starters,” laughs Hibiki as he rolls back over to his comrade’s side. “I mean, I get that you only let your Slyveon sleep with you, but just think of the little fluffy ball of brown. They’re like personal space heaters.”

“…Isn’t that what you’re for?” Yamato lifts a silvery brow, his hands lacing innocently in his lap. 

“…Well, yes,” admits Hibiki and clears his throat. The red reaches up to the very tips of his ears. “But you never let any of _my_ Eevees sleep with us.”

“If I were to allow that, there would be no room for us.” There’s a sniffing that follows and Yamato’s eyes slide shut. “I believe you have a problem, Hibiki. Fifteen Eevees sounds like a hoarder’s dream.”

“Excuse me,” balks Hibiki. His hands slam down to the crest of his knees and he swivels his head dangerously fast towards Yamato. “ _Excuse_ me. Did you just say there’s a limit to Eevees? I thought I knew you. I can’t believe you’d hurt me like that!”

A wry smile creeps forward just as Yamato’s eyes open a fraction – a little sliver of pale light appearing. “Oh?” The chuckle bubbles forth from his chest and it’s all sorts of molasses and wonderful. “I know you quite well, Hibiki. In fact, I would hazard to say better than most.”

There’s a hint of suggestion that’s not at all masked. 

Again, the color of Hibiki’s skin splotches in all variations of red and pink. It’s taken ten years for Yamato Hotsuin to know just what to say to so easily get under his skin, to make every single part of him ache, either happily or fearfully or pleasurably. It’s taken ten years for Yamato to know him better than himself and even through all the frustrated tears and chaos Hibiki wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Better than most,” agrees Hibiki and he’s momentarily distracted by a tired Eevee stumbling closer to them. The small little thing flops down in the small distance between them. As if it knows. As if it’s some new-age chastity belt. “Awww, you’re awake. Go back to bed, silly.”

Yamato watches with unconcealed interest as Hibiki reaches out and drags a palm along the Eevee’s head. A noise akin to a purr floats through the air; Yamato isn’t sure if it’s the Eevee or Hibiki. Either is a good bet.

“Silly? Does it not have a name? Have you forgotten which one is which?” Yamato lifts a hand and twines it in the mess of curls on the back of Hibiki’s head. Finger by finger, he twists into the soft hair and watches leisurely as Hibiki squirms. He’s always had a thing for his hair being played with, even in broad daylight

“It’s Figaro, thank you very much,” Hibiki murmurs and he lets his hand fall away and drop to the grass. Restlessly, fingers scrape at the blades and Hibiki does a very poor job in hiding the way his tiny frame trembles in delight. 

Hook, line and sinker.

“Are the gates latched?” asks Yamato, head tipping to the side to breathe the words near Hibiki’s maroon colored ear. 

“Yes, sir.”

“And the sign on the door flipped?”

“Since two-thirty!”

“Very good.”

Without further warning, Yamato rises to his feet, but not before curling his arms protectively around the other boy. He hoists him into his arms easily enough, one arm tucked around his waist and the other under his knees. It isn’t the first time he’s carried him with this ease, this comfortably, and it certainly isn’t the last.

“I think I want a Glaceon,” rambles Hibiki as his cheek presses the smooth fabric of Yamato’s shirt. 

“Is that so? Why that?”

“So when I get warm at night, I can tell it to come snuggle to cool me down.”

“…You’re insufferable.”

“I love you, too.”

It’s a short trek to the Daycare from the backyard and it doesn’t take much effort to carry Hibiki inside and up the creaky stairs. Hibiki had inherited the place from his Mother who had devoted her life to being a Breeder. Yamato had warmed up to the idea after several years of goading. It only took a month of dating Hibiki before he gave up on his world conquest and decided one set of badges and a championship to his name was more than enough. Hibiki afforded him a level of happiness that not much else could, and a life with Hibiki and his absurd amount of Eevees sounded like a makeshift dream come true.

Yamato sets him down on their bed and tosses a sidelong glance at the slumbering Slyveon in its little bed in the corner of the room. Beside her is an Eevee and Abysol who are comfortably spooned together in a larger bed, dozing in hot summer haze. Yamato can’t quite blame them.

“If there is an Egg in the morning, I am blaming you,” says Yamato as he straightens his back. A creak and crack or two later and he removes his Gear and sets it on the bedside table.

“Lies. You’ll like it.” Hibiki curls up into a ball at the head of the bed, admist the pillows, and cattily grins. “You like being a Grandpa.”

“What…?” Yamato’s brows do a crazy thing on his forehead and he can’t quite hide the besotted chuckle that spills forth. It starts low in his belly and rises up and fills the humid room. “If that is the case, I am already one twenty times over, Hibiki.”

“I know! We have so many grandkids. What do you think some of them are up to nowadays?”

Yamato rolls his eyes and eases himself down on the bed. Nonchalantly, he _shoves_ Hibiki over so that he has actual room to spread out and unfurl his limbs. Hibiki can be a bit of a brat and a bed-hog when he wants to be.

“You can always call the Trainers,” points out Yamato as he wedges his head back onto a pillow. A relaxed sigh follows. 

“That’s true.” 

Silence befalls them. It covers them like a cozy, worn blanket that’s been in the family for years. Eventually, Yamato removes his gloves and his fingers find a home in the mess of curls once again. In and out they go, carving new paths with every brush, every sweep. It’s methodical and random and it’s one of his favorite things to do despite himself.

“…Do you really want more Eevees?” asks Yamato after a long bout of silence.

“Hm?” One eye blinks open and peeks up and over at Yamato. “Oh. Well, always, actually, but I understand we’re short on space and I already have a ton.”

“Hm.” 

“I know I can keep them in their balls but it feels so inhumane. And yeah, the Nurses have yelled at me for thinking like that, because the balls are super cozy and safe nowadays. But I’d rather have them roam free and cause chaos than be stuck inside, alone. You know?”

“Yes, as you’ve said.”

“And—” starts Hibiki but he falters when he realizes Yamato is _smirking wolfishly_ at him. “What?”

“You are cute when you talk about them. Your eyes light up and you smile uncontrollably,” explains Yamato as he leans closer and drops a kiss right between Hibiki’s eyes.

“You didn’t always think that,” Hibiki reminds, his right hand reaching up to cup the smooth and cool skin. Yamato is always cool to the touch when he needs it, always is burning up when he wants. It’s amazing how he does it. “You used to think I was insane. And I believe you called me a hoarder juuuust this afternoon.” 

“Did I? I don’t remember that.” Chuckling, Yamato breezes a kiss over the shell of Hibiki’s ear. He delights in the way Hibiki’s body trembles and his back curves. 

“Mhm,” reaffirms Hibiki and he clings tightly to Yamato’s sides, nails digging in and in and holding on for dear life. Another shiver rakes through him. It’s wonderful. “You almost left me after that first Eevee.”

“I did not,” Yamato scoffs and he nips the tip of Hibiki’s nose.

“You totally did. You were mortified that my ruthless little Eevee took advantage of your big bad Abysol. Need I remind you who impr—”

Yamato’s clasped a hand over his mouth at this point. His eyes narrow down at the pretty boy and he can’t help but roll them moments after. His eyes, that is. Their bodies can wait. To prove as much, he whistles lowly and all three of the slumbering Pokémon stir awake. All it takes is for Yamato to murmur, “Out” authoritatively before each and every fluffy creature pads out of the room. It’s great to be a Trainer. It’s even better to have a sinfully hot boyfriend laying beneath you with enflamed cheeks.

“Are you going to behave now?” wonders Yamato, his hand slipping away from Hibiki’s mouth. 

The boy obediently nods. Enthused, Yamato glides his hand down the pretty expanse of Hibiki’s throat, pads of his fingers tracing along his pulse. Hibiki’s heart is beating out of control. It always does when he’s this worked up. It doesn’t take much.

“They were out of Potions when I went into the City,” explains Yamato, his palm pressing flat to Hibiki’s throat. His fingers bracket the pale columns. “It nearly thundered. The weather was unbearable and I just barely tracked down the last bag of food you insisted I buy.”

“It’s… their favorite,” Hibiki whispers in his own defense.

Yamato’s fingers curl lightly against Hibiki’s warming skin. “As you’ve said. Quiet.”

Hibiki nods and Yamato tightens his grip around his throat. Yamato’s hands are smooth and pale but there’s a strength to them that’s hard to miss. His fingers, long and agile, likely meant for a musical instrument in another life, are great for closing around Hibiki’s windpipe. But for how soft Yamato’s hands are Hibiki’s are silky and _better_.

A breathy noise leaks through Hibiki’s lips. It fills the otherwise silent room and is followed by ragged breathing. The hot summer air clings to them both and there’s entirely too much fabric separating them. There’s too much in the way of what they both evidently want so badly. 

But there’s time for that.

There’s time for that because Yamato’s hand that isn’t grasping at his throat is finding its way down into Hibiki’s slacks and then boxers. Yamato barely has the decency to undo his fly and button before he surges beneath. Hibiki’s thighs are warm for more than one reason and he’s already half hard from the depletion of oxygen and the agonizingly sinful way Yamato is staring at him.

“I am starting to think the heat goes to my head,” whispers Yamato and his lips are so close to Hibiki’s ear suddenly. Suddenly, every inch of Yamato is pressed down against him and his hand is curling around the base of his erection at the exact moment his palm pushes harder on his throat.

Sparks fly behind Hibiki’s eyes. Quickly, he screws them shut and tries to suck in a shaky, deep breath. But nothing comes of it. His chest delightfully _burns_ at his inability to catch his breath. He can still breathe but it’s limited and every single fiber of his body is lighting up in a pretty array of lights.

“Yamato,” breathes Hibiki ruggedly. Raggedly. Trembling, he hooks his ankle with Yamato’s and he pushes his hips up into his hand.

“Quiet,” reminds Yamato and he _bites_ his ear.

It makes Hibiki moan in a way he wants to be embarrassed about but can’t give two shits about. It’s messy.

Yamato’s hand closes tighter around his throat just as he begins stroking Hibiki. The time that they’ve spent together – the hundreds of hook-ups and getting to know each other – make it easy to feel out his weak spots. His soft spots. It’s so easy to milk out choked little noises from Hibiki and know that this time, Hibiki is choking for a whole new litany of reasons.

“I love you,” Yamato tells him, breath warm and deep and low as he nibbles at his earlobe. “Now, come for me, Hibiki,” he all but orders.

His hand closes almost painfully tight around his throat and dick at the same time. The last stroke up of his fist is all Hibiki needs before he’s coming and seeing stars. The lack of oxygen makes his chest _ache_ and his skin turn to _fire_ and he can’t believe how this, _this_ , is making his orgasm rival their first time. How something so absurd can feel so _great_. How placing this much trust in Yamato – not to kill him, not to make it painful – turns him on so damn _much_.

He comes while bucking his hips up and nearly throwing out his back. His toes curl and he whines out Yamato’s name just as Yamato lets go of his throat. 

The cool, refreshing breath of air that he takes the moment he comes down from his high is amazingly satisfying. His brain is fuzzy and he’s dizzy and there’s stars. There are actual _stars_. Every limb feels satisfied, deep down to the bone, and Hibiki wants to lay there and smile like a goof for the rest of his life.

“Holy fuck,” is all Hibiki manages to see, hiccupping and then laughing. 

“I take it it was acceptable?” asks Yamato and for all that bravado from moments prior, there’s a flicker of concern on his boyfriend’s expression.

“Mhm.” Hibiki quickly wraps his arms around Yamato’s neck and tugs him down. He pulls him close and kisses him and then just smiles, laughing again, unable to stop himself. “That was really, really good. And I really, really love you.”

Placated, Yamato kisses him back and then along the bridge of his nose and his eyebrows. “And I you,” he assures him and he lets Hibiki hold him. Lets his stubborn little Breeder cuddle the ever living fuck out of him. “…Which is why I am letting you keep however many Eevees are born.”

Hibiki lets out a breathy squeak. It’s pure delight. His thin arms cling tighter and Hibiki throws his head back with a belly-laugh and exclaims to the sticky, warm summer air, “I’m going to marry the shit out of you, Yamato Hotsuin. And all our Eevees will be the flower-girls.”


End file.
